


Pescatarian Option

by orphan_account



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 16:30:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Rachel Foley is hungry, seeking prey aboard the Queen Zenobia.  However, an encounter with a bizarre creature leads her into a nightmare more disturbing than even her own existence.





	Pescatarian Option

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nonconamod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonconamod/gifts).



She padded across the floor, occasionally tasting the air.  She was hungry.  There had been a morsel that she had seen, but it had fought her.  She remembered falling to the deck, everything growing dark.  She woke up again alone.

She had done that before.

She couldn’t remember what happened before that.

The morsel had run off, her taste very faint in the air.  And she was still very hungry.  Hungrier after waking than she was when she blacked out.

Something else was nearby.  She could hear it, rifling through drawers nearby.  But it was strange.  Not like normal prey.  The air tasted _strange_ the closer she got to the prey.  It was a mix of things like her that were hurt, and a taste she couldn’t place.

“Wheeere aaa~re youuuuu…” there was a vague of the meaning of her calls.  But she didn’t know, couldn’t understand them wholly.  She was uninterested in working out the patterns.

There was a _wet_ sound ahead of her, where the sounds were coming from.  On the other side of the door.  Other things like her, but not her, were outside that door, slowly dripping into the carpet.  She wasn’t worried.  She was stronger than they were, better.

She clubbed the door with her arms, splintering wood and clearing her path towards the prey she’d heard.

“Fooouu~nd Yoooouu…” She called.

The morsel was as tall as she was but was different.  It was just a giant slab, off-white in color, with two hands.  Some dark cloth was perched on its head.  In one hand was a tiny knife.  It gurgled curiously.

She pounced upon it, claws out.  Her head unraveled and her mouthparts lashed out.  The thing thrashed and tried to buck her off, but she was determined.  Finally, she succeeded upon having her teeth latch upon the morsel.  She drank deep.

And realized her mistake all too late.

The air around the prey had tasted wrong.  But it had given her no indication just how wrong the prey would be.  It wasn’t prey, wasn’t meat.  This thing was _all wrong_.  The prey sloshed indignantly as she retrached her mouthparts, coughing up the white, sticky matter that it had taken. 

She backed away, retching.  The prey pursued her.

A glint of steel, and the thing swung its knife.  It bit through the tight, nonliving material she was wrapped in and across her chest, not deep, but enough to grab her attention.  The thing’s free hand grabbed her and it carved.

Not her flesh, not to kill.

It was very deliberately carving away at the binding material.  Exposing her skin.

Something very faraway, very, dimly, registered this as a very bad thing; the same part of her that semi-recognized her calls as meaningful also semi-recognized this thing’s purpose.  She couldn’t eat it, and whatever it had planned was not good.  She had to get away.

She turned and wailed and fled. 

She ran fast, arms flailing.  Had to find a vent, had to get away. 

She found one and climbed.  She was away.  She could find other prey, get this awful taste out of her mouth.  Find something she could eat. 

Something strong grabbed her ankle and pulled.  Claws dug into the vent deep, causing a hellish screech as she was inexorably dragged backwards.  She flailed, trying to get new handholds, but could not escape as she was pulled out of the vent and thrown to the floor, landing on the back of her head, hard.  As darkness descended, she saw the block had followed her, standing over her.

It gurgled menacingly, and she knew nothing.

 

* * *

 

She woke and couldn’t move.  As her vision returned, she realized she was bound to a metal table where she had woken up the first time.  Each of her limbs had bee stretched to a corner then lashed to a leg, where her right arm split in two at the elbow, each branch was tied separately.  The metal of the table was cold against her skin.

Her bare skin.

The binding material had been completely removed while she was not awake. 

“Someone save me.” she called.  This was a call she had not made before, but it lanced through her vocal chords almost automatically once she realized that she was trapped.  It definitely had meaning.

The not-prey came up, wetly slapping against the floor with every wobbly step towards her it took.  A hand pressed against the side of her face.  Her mouthparts lashed out and flailed wildly causing her enemy to step back for a second.  It maneuvered away from her head, to the other end of the table.  By her feet.

She growled as the hands traveled up her legs; the pitch raising an octave when they found a space between her legs and the fingers of one hand began to _push in._ She continued to thrash against her bindings in futility, accomplishing nothing as those fingers probed deeper and deeper.  This felt… good.

But it was wrong.

This not-prey was not like her, not like the others that were like her but not her, not like the prey that was somewhat shaped like her.  It tasted wrong and was wrong shaped and was just wrong and it couldn’t mate with her.  She couldn’t let it mate with her.  She, and that small part of her that half-understood her calls were in agreement.

However, another part of her was in disagreement.  The area between her legs was becoming slick as the probed her with its fingers.  The thing’s hands felt good.  Were good.  That part of her was tensing, getting close to its limits.

“Help meee~eeee!” She screamed, the last word raising to an ear-splitting pitch as her futile struggles degenerated into convulsions around the hand inside her, grinding against the hand as her slickness leaked out.

The not-prey wasted no time in clambering aboard the table.  The taste in the air became wrongly masculine… something solid and thicker than its fingers pressed against her.  She thrashed hard to buck it off and tried to bite as it pressed inside her. It felt like it was trying to split her in half. It felt good.

Then it pulled out.

Then hammered back in.

She screamed and wailed and parts of her wanted escape and parts of her wanted to stay, and those parts would have won even if she hadn’t been tied down and the parts of her that wanted escape were as horrified as they could be.

Thirty minutes of filthy, degrading squelching later, something indescribably cold filled her.  The thing left without even untying her, wobbling off to wherever.  When she was sure it was gone, she thrashed against her bonds again, less panicked, she tried to work bits of bone and spine that protruded against her bindngs, sawing them.  They began to fray.  It would take time, but she would get out.

She was still hungry. 

But that thing was still on the ship.

Part of her wouldn’t mind finding it again.

“Play… with me…” She called out.

**Author's Note:**

> There is no excuse for this.


End file.
